


If

by adistraughtthought



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Alternate Canon, Canon Related, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-29 23:24:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6398434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adistraughtthought/pseuds/adistraughtthought
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If Robert Joseph MacCready wasn’t such a fuck up, Lucy would still be alive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

_If Robert Joseph MacCready wasn’t such a fuck up, Lucy would still be alive._

A common thought to run through his mind these days, especially with the glint of a gold band on his left hand.  


It's been months since Sole pushed the big red "Blow Up The Institute" button for the Minutemen and weeks since Sole got down on one knee. Mac's time on this earth feels split: Before Institute, with the majority of his time spent with Lucy in a damn cave, and After Institute, which will be spent with Sole, hopefully until he dies.  

Mac supposes that it's only natural to feel a little bitter when a twenty-two-year chapter of your life comes to a fiery close with the push of a button.  

MacCready, fully decked out in one of Sole's spare hazmat suits, kicks a rock and still feels the tingle of radiation through his toes. Ground zero of the Institute is still bad enough to make even ghouls a little uncomfortable. The tingle turns into a sharper burn and he scowls at the rock, firmly keeping his foot close just to spite it. His suit's Geiger counter has been ticking nonstop since they got within a mile of the blast, but now it's nearly frantic.  

Currently, they're picking through the rubble of the former Institute looking for technology and scrap. Sole figured that a place as high-tech as the Institute would have had some sort of strong box with all the best stuff in it, while Mac doesn't think anything could survive a nuclear blast. Then again… 

He looks over at Sole. Even with a filthy hazmat suit on, they still look... _ethereal_ in this barren wasteland. Still perfect, even after a nuclear war and a 200-year stint as an icicle. 

In a small way, they remind him of Lucy: his light in the darkness, a reliable force of good. But past that, the two could not be more different. How could you compare Lucy's healing hands to Sole's, soaked in red? Sole might look like they walked straight out of a prewar magazine, but Lucy… 

Lucy was _real_. His late wife had been his only friend and confidant for years before things got romantic. Lucy helped him run a colony of kids in a cave, becoming a politician, a doctor, and a mother figure by the time she was 11. When she left Little Lamplight, it was on her own terms; she left almost a full year after RJ did, preferring to use her talents to heal where it was needed most. 

After leaving the caves, Lucy didn't face the wasteland because she _had_  to for revenge…she went out and healed people because she was brave.  

In nearly every way, Lucy was Mac's opposite. There was no fighting the attraction between them. It was never work, it was never ugly, never bloody until the end, their love just…was. 

And Mac didn't deserve any of it. 

Hell, if he didn't deserve his childhood sweetheart, what makes him think he deserves Sole? The Savior of the Commonwealth title is a crown on their head, made of solid gold and encrusted with nuclear fallout. How they don't buckle under the weight is beyond him  

Besides that, Sole is also accredited with other, much smaller good deeds such as Saving Local Fuck Up's Ass from Gunners and Curing Mercenary's Son from Deadly Disease.  

Sole is a comic book hero brought to life, while MacCready is a sidekick at best or… 

Or a villain at worst.  

After all…if MacCready wasn't such a fuck up, Duncan wouldn't have gotten hurt in the first place.  

_It was a clear day and he had begged Lucy to let him take their son while she worked at the clinic. Father and son played outside, soaking in the slightly-irradiated sunlight, smiling and laughing._

_They were playing hide and seek when it happened. Duncan is as smart as his mother and knew his dad was letting him win. The little one was determined to beat his father fair and square. He walked a little further than the boundaries of the game._

_**"Ready or not, here I come!"** _

_Duncan hid beneath a bramble bush in the mud, with small puddles and strange plants surrounding him._

_**"Oh Duncan, where are you?"** RJ's sing-song voice calls out.  _

_The bush was leaking some kind of fluid that drip-dripped every few seconds._

_**"Alright buddy, you win. Come on out, now."** _

_Moments turned to minutes and RJ's anxiety spiked._

_**"Duncan?"** _

_Duncan keeps a hand tight over his mouth to stifle his giggles._

_**"Duncan G. MacCready, that's enough!"** _

_When it was clear to Duncan that his father was growing worried, Duncan laughed and wiggled out of his hiding spot._

_The weeping thorns caught skin and Duncan cried out. RJ frantically ran towards the sound and found a bloody gash on his son's arm. Rocking his son back and forth, he soothed Duncan with lies._

_**"It's alright, Duncan. It's okay. You're going to be fine. Mom's going to fix you up, it's okay."** _

MacCready growls low in his throat. Teeth clenched, he shakes his head to clear it of negative thoughts. It was a mistake, one that could have cost him Duncan's life, but it was a mistake. 

_'He's **safe** now, probably riding on top of one of Daisy's brahmin. He'll be here within a month, then I can see for myself that he's okay,'_ MacCready thinks positively.

 _'The trouble we went through to get it…'_ Mac shakes his head and smirks, remembering the adventure. _'Cold leads, ferals, and an ancient security code. It was almost like a comic book. If we didn't need it for Duncan, we could've made a fortune-'_

His thought stutters. That vial was worth his son's  _life_ , and while MacCready couldn't put a price on that, others could certainly try. Anyone who knows of the merc would know he'd pay it in a heartbeat.  

 _'And if Duncan's **not** okay, someone will fucking answer for it.'_  His thoughts darken and his pulse spikes in anger once more.  

As usual, when logic and diplomacy fails, MacCready is ready for violence. Actually, he's ready for violence _before_ logic and diplomacy, too. He was always an angry kid, lashing out with curses to make up for his scrappy size, but a gun is the Great Equalizer. 

Bullets don't care if you're 5'3" or 6'9", take one to the head and you go down just the same.  

Lucy never liked killing, even the deadly irradiated creatures of the Capitol Wasteland. Murder was always left in RJ's capable hands.  

 _"Each life is precious and short, especially out here,"_ she would say. _"We should try to let them live as long as they can."_  Meanwhile, RJ was going behind her back, killing people for caps.  

But she was smart-smarter than himself, for sure-and even though he always skirted the question and lied about his occupation, there was no doubt in his mind that she knew. 

_'There's another difference,'_ MacCready thinks bitterly. _'I was always the liar between us.'_

MacCready's heart speeds up, his palms sweat, his throat tightens and he's back. Back in time to three years ago, back in that damned metro station, back when- 

_Darkness everywhere, the lamp was snuffed out in the chaos. Damp, thick air like death and copper and fear. Groaning and shrieking behind him. Small hands clutching his jacket and smaller tears staining it. Blurred vision as he swivels around **-where is she?-** but all he hears is her screams and the wet sounds of flesh tearing. His brain tries to make sense of it but the terror won't let him. _

_It wasn't until days later after reliving the moment over and over again through night terrors that he understood her:_

_**"Run, RJ! I'll be fine--It'll be okay! Just r-"** _

_A scream, a wet gargle, an echoing thud._

Mac's hands clench painfully into fists, nails biting deep into his palms, drawing blood. In the end, it wasn't ferals that ruined his Lucy, it was him. He made her into a liar and for that, he'll never forgive himself.  

But he should have gone back. He should have murdered every fucking feral he found and he should have brought her _home._

If MacCready wasn't such an absolute fuck up, he would have dug her a grave in their backyard. He would have cleaned her up, wiped away blood and dirt and rags to dress her in the most beautiful dress he could find and- 

_If_ he had done this, he would have noticed the lack of a wedding band on her ruined fingers. He'd have seen metal in places where it shouldn't be: the glint of silver twisting from her open chest. The part that was a clear distinction between human and-- 


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Lucia MacCready was really the genius they thought she was, she would've seen this coming.

Nothing gets past the Institute. Performing surgery in a cave is nearly commonplace in the wasteland. But a child doing it piqued their interest, especially with such a low mortality rate. By the time Lucy was synthesizing bone disease cures in a cave, they already had plans to take her.

But the Institute is patient and practical. They might have been able to get away with stealing a baby, but a child would be harder to tame. An 11-year-old couldn’t have adapted to this sterile cage, but an adult was easier to convince, to see **reason**.

Lucy was walking home from the clinic when it happened. Rough, dark hands grabbed her from behind and she opened her mouth to scream. A rag laced with cocktail of drugs was placed over her mouth and instead of drawing air into her lungs, she inhaled chemicals.

There was a loud crack as blue electricity surrounded Lucy and her captor. Head swimming, eyes too heavy, she gasped out one name before succumbing:

“RJ…”

Lucy awoke to find herself tied to a bed. Admittedly, this wasn’t the first time this has happened, but this was different. This wasn’t her home or her bed. Her man wasn’t next to her, gently petting her hair and whispering words of love into her ear. All that’s here are bright white walls and clean, non-rusted metal that surrounded her.

Eyes squinted at the bright ceiling, Lucy forced a deep breath. In…and out- she sputtered out a cough. Her lungs still ached from whatever they drugged her with. Her nose tingled at the smell of the room…or the _lack_ of smells. Wherever she was didn’t seem to have any smell she’s ever encountered. It was clean, foreign, and terrifying. As a doctor, Lucy never thought the _absence_ of radiation and rot would scare her, but found her heart speeding up regardless.

Testing the restraints, Lucy was tied down with thick, white leather straps on each of her ankles. Each of her wrists were tied down as well, with one being significantly tighter than the other, to accommodate her mechanical left hand. She used her left hand to check the material integrity, clawing at it with sharp, rusty metal, but the material was too thick, too strong.

Lucy groaned in frustration, only to be cut off by a man clearing his throat. She flinched at the sound and craned her neck to see the intruder. 

An old man in the whitest lab coat she’s ever seen was standing at the foot of the bed, while a dark-skinned man in sunglasses and a strange black coat stood at the door. The old man cleared his throat and brought her attention back to him.

“Welcome, Lucy. Welcome to the Institute.”

Her blood froze in her veins at the word. Everyone has heard of the Institute stealing people, but Lucy never once thought it was real.

It was always RJ who believed in aliens, superheroes, and shadowy organizations.

“What-” she croaked out, mouth dry and voice thick. She coughed and tried again. “What do you want with me?”

The old man laughed and Lucy’s nerves settled slightly. There aren’t many people who survive the wasteland long enough to be considered elderly, but those who do are usually jaded. This man’s laugh was so good-natured and pure, it was as if the wasteland had never touched him.

“My name is Father. I am the Director of the Institute. We have brought you here, Lucy, because we believe you are special,” he began, and smiled softly at her. Lucy cocked an eyebrow: interested, but skeptical. 

“I would like to offer you a place at the here, at the Institute. The Institute believes you can do anything you set your mind to and that talent can make the world a better place,” Father’s smile faltered, becoming grave. His wrinkled became more pronounced and in an instant, Lucy swore he aged ten years. 

“I’m ashamed to say that this isn’t an entirely altruistic offer. I am…dying. I have a disease that, at the moment, is incurable. In exchange for unlimited access to our labs, I would ask that you work on a cure.”

Lucy’s eyes narrowed. Of course they didn’t bring her here because she was special. They needed something. Well, she needed her family, and she wasn’t about to abandon them for access to some fancy science equipment. 

“Thank you for the… _opportunity_ , but I will have to decline,” Lucy ground out in an attempt to be amicable to hide her fear and anger.

“Very well. We cannot force you to stay, only extend an invitation,” Father told her, a little put-out. He gestured to the other man by the door. “I will make arrangements for X6-88 to return you to your homestead.”

“Thank you,” Lucy sighed in relief. Father made his way to the doorway but paused just before leaving. 

“We’ve heard you have a son who is very sick,” Father said nonchalantly. Lucy’s breath hitched. “We have state of the art technology at our disposal. Better than what you’ve seen. Better than even before the Great War.

“We cannot cure your son, just as we cannot cure my own affliction. The treatment does not exist for either. Yet. You have a brilliant mind, Lucy. If anyone can cure your son, it’s you.”

* * *

“RJ!” Lucy MacCready wakes up in a cold sweat. Her right hand is clenched painfully, nails biting her palm while her left grinds together, the metal-on-metal scratches and squeals in protest. 

With a groan, her head falls back onto the too-white pillows of her overstuffed bed. It’s been a year since she was taken and each day feels like the first: waking up scared and alone in a bright white room, full of confusion with a dull ache in her head.

Sitting up, Lucy fumbles around in the nightstand next to her bed for the small can of oil. Her hand’s been creaking for a couple days and she doesn’t want it interfering with her work. Flexing each digit, she coats them all generously, not worried about wasting resources. If she runs out, there’s always a new can to replace it. That’s just how life is at the Institute: when something has outlived its usefulness, it’s cast aside. 

This mentality is great for metal lubricant and dirty lab coats, but unfortunately it bleeds over into gray areas. Often times, the synths she works with are replaced without warning. Whether they’re repurposed or incinerated, Lucy can’t tell. Her hand gets side looks as well, being an eyesore and impractical to these soft-bodied scientists who have never known the wasteland. She’s been asked on numerous occasions if she wants a replacement one, one that works better, that looks _normal._

Holding her oil-slicked left hand up to the light, Lucy smiles fondly. How could she get rid of the one thing that made her unique? Sure, the memory behind it is terrible and still haunts her some nights, but it’s more of a blessing than a curse. In the wasteland, losing a limb usually means you can’t defend yourself. But her metal hand has scared off enough raiders to make her think otherwise. After all, who would chance going up against someone with a synth hand?

* * *

Wasteland ferals were legendary. Even the hardest raiders steered clear of them. The fear was enough to cast out prewar ghouls, letting them rot in Necropolis, so long as they stay out of sight. So when a settler was pounding on the door of Little Lamplight’s office, screaming about being chased by ferals, RJ gave the order to let her die.

After about a ten-second argument with his advisor/doctor/best friend, the Mayor changed his mind.

The scavenger team was in charge of getting the woman to safety, tears streaming down her pale cheeks, thanks spilling from her mouth. Lucy gave her a soothing smile and got to work on patching her up.

The woman was beautiful: blonde hair and blue eyes, with smudges of grease on her pale face. As Lucy patched the woman up, she introduced herself as Barbara and babbled on nervously about robots and repair work. Lucy talked RJ into letting the woman stay for the night-if only for the pleasant company-then she was to leave.

Plans never seem to go the way you want them to.

The ferals came back in the night, clawing at the clinic’s door, waking Lucy from the settler’s bedside. Luckily, it was only Lucy and the settler in the clinic, but the front door of Little Lamplight was close enough to set off her protective instincts. **Nothing** would hurt her kids, not on her watch. With no weapons but scalpels and a wicked bone saw on hand, the women got ready to defend themselves.

One after the other, ferals poured inside like radroaches. Skittering across the hardwood, the feral ghouls avoided each swing with an unexpected quickness. The settler was useless, too afraid of them to get close enough to land a hit, and Lucy was too unpracticed.

A shot rang out and the one nearest Lucy hit the floor. RJ stood in the doorway with a single-shot rifle, aiming carefully in the low light. One by one, the ferals fell until it was only the shaken up woman, a tired Lucy, and a pissed of RJ.

The thing to remember about ferals is that they like to hide. They shuffle under debris, or even other bodies: pretending to be dead, hiding in plain sight. RJ was opening his mouth to ask Lucy if she was alright when it lunged. 

Mouth wide, teeth gnashing, the feral clamped down on Lucy’s left hand. It gnawed with broken teeth, taking fingers and ruining tendons. Before Lucy had a chance to scream, it was dead and RJ was tossing the gun aside to run to her.

RJ told her later that she fainted. With the woman’s help, he had pumped her full of enough drugs that she didn’t stir when they held her down and cut off her mangled hand.

When Lucy awoke bandaged and afraid, Barbara held her hand and explained what happened. While she wasn’t a doctor, she was a mechanic. She told Lucy she’s worked with synthetic limbs before and could replace her hand. A few weeks of painful healing later, Barbara returned with the metal hand in tow. Between the two women, the hand was completely functional, if an eyesore.

* * *

Lucy takes a deep, shuddering breath as her left hand shakes at the memory. Ferals weren’t exactly her favorite creature before the attack, but ever since, she’s been plagued with nightmares and tremors. After a moment, the hand steadies, gears blissfully silent.

The hand had taken some getting used to, but the precise tips work far better than her flesh hand at sewing up flesh slick with blood. They can act as a last resort if she’s ever attacked–though RJ never let anything get within a mile of them with that sniper rifle of his. Her husband always treated her the same, metal hand or no, and saw Lucy as a whole package. Not damaged or augmented. Just Lucy. He never shied away from holding her creaky metal hand and would kiss each sharp tip as gently as he would her flesh one.

Lucy sighs at the memory. According to the monthly reports she receives, her family is safe, but Duncan is still sick. Her work here isn’t finished. It’s been nearly a year since her son came down with this strange disease, and soon after that, she was taken. But today is the day she saves him.

The latest batch of the cure for her son’s affliction-code named Project D-2583-is being analyzed by the computers now and should finish soon. She’s sure it’s perfect this time. After that, it’s just a matter of personally delivering it to her son.

Getting out of bed, she quickly showers and gets dressed. A year ago, she adamantly refused to wear the green and white lab coats of the Bioscience Department, stubbornly wearing the tattered coat she arrived with. Now, the lab coat feels like a second skin. 

Lucy takes a moment to dig through the back of her closet. Hanging against the wall is the outfit she was taken in: a low-cut shirt that’s practically a staple of humid wasteland fashion, and a ratty knee-length skirt. Her well-worn red sneakers are in the back corner under the outfit, along with a small knapsack she used to take to and from the clinic.

She’s not particularly attached to any aspect of her wardrobe, except for her bomber jacket. Sandy beige, the color is startlingly similar to her husband’s duster. There’s pockets covering the front which used to hold stimpaks, snacks for her son, and extra ammo for RJ.

A single patch adorns the right arm in the form of a circle with a single red cross in the center: something RJ was supremely upset about. 

* * *

“It’s not _fair._ I haven’t found a special patch for being an amazing sniper. Why do you get a cool medic patch?” RJ had his hands stuffed in his pockets and was kicking around dirt.

“Well, for one, the jacket _came with the damn patch_. I didn’t earn it, despite saving _your_ sorry life when you were eight,” Lucy kissed RJ’s nose and he chuckled, bringing a smile to her face.

“And two, if you were such an _amazing sniper_ , my new jacket wouldn’t have a .35 hole through the left shoulder,” Lucy put an index finger through the singed, slightly-bloody hole for effect.

“Alright, alright. But if we find a patch for being an amazing husband, I want it presented to me in front of the whole town. Deal?” RJ hooked a couple fingers through hers playfully and looked up from under his lashes.

Lucy’s laugh lit up his face and he grabbed her by the back of her neck to pull her down for a kiss.

“Deal.”

* * *

Her bomber feels like a lover: sheltering her from harm and keeping her warm at night. For obvious reasons, her husband RJ is not allowed to come to the Institute nor is she allowed to leave, but in his absence she finds comfort where she can. On particularly hard nights, she finds solace wrapping herself up in her jacket and going to sleep.

“Soon,” she whispers, and pets the bomber lovingly as her metal left hand clenches into a determined fist. “I’m almost done.”

Walking with purpose, Lucy makes her way to the Bioscience Department. Moving past the circular room that feels more like a prewar zoo than a lab, she reaches the door to where the _real_ science happens. Cloning gorillas is fun and all, but when people’s lives-her _son’s_ life-are on the line, all that effort could go towards something vastly more productive. 

“Good morning, Lucy. Sleep well?”

Lucy smiles warmly at the man. Dark hair and a green lab coat that matches her own, Brian has become the closest thing to a friend she has at the Institute. 

“As well as can reasonably be expected,” Lucy responds stiffly, which is their little code for _‘I hate it here and I just want to cure my son and go home’._ Brian winces sympathetically and pats her arm.

Brian and Lucy are probably the only two scientists that can see the Institute for what it really is: a playground for scientists to experiment on the populace above. In coded words, they’ve had heated discussions on whether the Institute really is what’s best for the Commonwealth, which all end the same way:

It’s not. 

“Did the computer finish testing the latest batch yet?” Lucy asks as she settles on the nearest stool to type in her login ID on the terminal. 

“We should have the answer within the hour, my friend. I’m sure this time we’ll get favorable results.”

“I hope so. I don’t know how much longer my little Duncan can hold on for. Speaking of favorable results, how is your own research coming-”

The hydraulics of the lab door hisses as a courser strides in. Brian’s eyes narrow at the synth, distrust written all over his face.

“Can we help you…? Sorry, it’s just so hard to tell you _coursers_ apart. All the black coats and sunglasses, you all look quite similar,” Brian bites out, teeth showing. Lucy waves him off and approaches the man. 

The courser is mostly unaffected by Brian’s outburst, but Lucy is paying attention. She watched the man’s eyebrow twitch and the slight downturn of his pouty mouth. Lucy smiles in recognition. Only one courser shows marginally more emotion than the rest.

“It’s nice to see you, X6-88. Make yourself at home. Is there something we can help you with?” Lucy gestures to the small lab, knowing full well coursers don’t partake in basic hospitality. 

“Hello, Doctor Lucy,” X6-88 purposefully doesn’t address Brian and the corners of his mouth raise ever-so-slightly. Looking hard at the courser, she swears his monotone voice has a hint of fondness in it.

It’s either that, or she’s going crazy from minimal close human interaction. 

If Brian can be counted as Lucy’s friend at the Institute, X6-88 is a close second. Despite being the very courser sent to kidnap her a year ago, she can hardly fault the synth for following orders; that is, after all, what they were built for.

Lucy is careful to treat synths as human as she can get away with, while calling little attention to herself. With so many synths going rogue and escaping the Institute, she can’t afford to waste time being interrogated by the SRB because she asked a synth how their day was going. 

After all, with her metal hand, who is she to judge?

“Father would like a word with you. If you would please follow me,” X6-88 turns and leaves without making sure that she’ll follow. Lucy glances at Brian, but the other scientist just shrugs. Curious, Lucy follows the synth through the glass-walled corridors towards the board room.

As Lucy leaves, the computer pings and signals the end of the testing phase for Project D-2583. Brian’s heart lifts at the green ‘SUCCESS’ text marching across the monitor.

The screen shorts out for a moment and kicks him out of the program, sending Brian’s login back to the main menu. Brian cocks his head to the side, equal parts confused and cautious, and types in his credentials again. 

Upon logging in, the screen chimes once more as he gets an incoming alert from the Director. Brow furrowed, he calls up the latest message marked ‘urgent’ and begins to read. By the time Brian is finished, his hands are clenched and shaking.

* * *

_Doctor Brian Virgil,_

_In accordance with the Quarter 3 Power Conservation Plan, Project D-2583 has been terminated. As of this moment, all data and specimens related to the project will be confiscated. A courser will arrive shortly to expedite this process._

_A portion of the power conserved from the termination of this project will be allocated to your personal project. The research you perform on the exploration of multiple strains of the FEV virus will help make the world a better, safer place for us all._

_Thank you for your time and dedication,_

_Director_

* * *

Footsteps approach the lab at a brisk pace and Brian darts across the room to the centrifuge. Hands shaking with anger and fear, he’s unlocking the machine’s clasps as quietly as he can when he hears the steps halt just outside the laboratory.

As the door hisses open, a pair of coursers enter and Brian covertly slides a single vial into his lab coat.

“May I help you, gentlemen?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr: [adistraughtthought](http://www.adistraughtthought.tumblr.com/) for more original content like videos, headcanons, timelines, and pining over MacLucy.


	3. Part Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If the Institute was as all-powerful as they thought they were, things would’ve gone according to plan.

Upon entering the board room, it’s clear to Lucy that there is something very wrong. The line of Father’s shoulders is tense and while Lucy has conflicting feelings about being kidnapped, she can’t help but worry for the Director’s health. His life is in her hands and she’s no closer to curing cancer after a year of hard work. Father has the power to expel her from the Institute, forbid her to work on her son’s cure, even give the orders to kill her.

Odd friend or not, Lucy knows X6-88 wouldn’t hesitate to pull the trigger.

“Lucy,” Father pauses to take a deep, cleansing breath. “Would you please have a seat? There is something we must discuss.”

Suddenly, she’s filled with dread. After all, no one asks you to sit down before giving you _good_ news. This meeting is not about Father’s deteriorating health, but about Lucy. Her mind goes to her family immediately. 

“Duncan?” Lucy croaks out, mouth dry and voice a forced monotone, trying desperately not to fear the worst. Lucy can’t help the small hitch of her breath as she whispers out the second name:

“RJ?”

“Lucy, when you were brought to us one year ago, what did you think of us? Did you know we’ve been working hard to cure the super mutants plaguing the outside? Would you have suspected that everything we do here is for the good of the entire world?”

Father’s speech begins grand, as it does every time he talks about how the Institute is humanity’s last hope. The glass cutout wall at his back certainly helps this effect. Lucy knows better than to interrupt and stays silent, save her left hand nervously chittering as she strikes each digit against one another anxiously. 

“No. I suppose you couldn’t possibly have known. All you heard outside these walls were the horror stories of the Institute stealing family members in the night and replacing them with synths.”

Lucy’s eyes dart around the room, trying to find a clue as to why she was called here. As usual, the board room is minimalist at best, with only a single folder on the table.

Her heart speeds up, but she keeps her flesh hand clenched under the desk, berating herself for growing so complacent here. She feels danger just as acutely in this room as she ever did out in the wasteland. 

“You’ve been generally confined to your lab this past year, working on the cure for your son. I do not fault you for not understanding the inner workings of our institution, as you were both disinclined to investigate and purposefully kept in the dark.”

The hairs on the back of Lucy’s neck stand up and for the first time, Lucy wishes she had RJ’s inclination towards violence instead of a healer’s heart. No matter what this man has done to her, he is still technically her patient, her sponsor, and her best hope at curing Duncan.

Lucy doesn’t think she has it in her to hurt him. 

“The truth, Doctor, is that we _do_ spirit away brilliant minds to live here at the Institute, as you are already aware of. Quite often, in fact,” Father pauses, and Lucy might be imagining it, but he almost looks regretful.

“When we…acquire a new asset, we must avoid suspicion at all costs. Therefore, each time we do this, _every_ time we do this…the one we take must be replaced.”

Lucy always thought she was smart. You have to be, out there in the wasteland. If you’re not smart, you’re strong or rich, and if you’re none of those things: you’re dead.

So when Father gives her this information, she thinks there must be a mistake. Wouldn’t there have been some sign, some hint that there was a synth-Lucy running around the Commonwealth? Wouldn’t Brian have told her? Wouldn’t there have been a clue? Lucy, who was a surgeon at age 7, who cured rickets in a _cave_ when she was 11, who became a successful doctor at _16_ …

Smart as she is, she never saw this coming.

“We thought it would be best to replace you until you finished the cure,” Father says, gesturing to X6-88. The dark man straightened more, if that was possible, and addressed Lucy himself.

“My objective was to obtain asset Doctor Lucia ‘Lucy’ MacCready from the Capital Wasteland and bring her to the Institute to cure Father’s illness-” X6-88 begins. 

“-While simultaneously working on a cure for your son, Duncan,” Father interrupts quickly, as if this absolves him of all other crimes. X6-88 nods slightly before continuing.

“Once the asset was secured, we activated the synth designated L8-29 to replace you until your objective was complete,” X6-88 informs Lucy with a clinical detachment.

Any friendship she presumed was there before is being obliterated with every word out of the synth’s mouth.

“How did you replicate my hand?” Lucy asks quietly, holding up her metal appendage weakly and flexing the digits. 

“Oh, Doctor. Come now,” Father begins a bit condescendingly. “Don’t tell me you haven’t realized that your hand is an old gen 1 synth hand. All we had to do was replace L8-29’s hand with the inferior one. It was quite simple.”

Lucy decides that the worst part of it all is how nonchalantly her life could be replicated by a madman and his all-powerful institution of renegade scientists.

“The plan was to send a highly trained courser to obtain the synth and have you take their place. It would have been like nothing ever happened,” Father says tiredly, shaking his head. “Unfortunately, the plan…went awry.”

“What have you done?” Lucy whispers quietly.

“When we take people on a temporary basis-as you were taken-we leave a synth behind to prevent complications. Families could become confused or even hostile if you disappear and return unharmed. Paradoxically, it causes less suspicion to completely replace people with a synth replica instead,” Father explains.

“As you know, the wasteland can be full of…unpredictable variables. Violence and danger thrives above us and that creates an unstable environment-”

“My family. Duncan, RJ, are they alright?” Lucy asks exasperated. 

Father hesitates slightly before placing a hand on hers. She shrugs it off impatiently. 

“Well?! Tell me, dammit!”

“There was an accident. Your family and L8-29 took shelter in a metro station in the wasteland-”

 _“What?_ Are they okay? Why aren’t they home? Why would RJ take Duncan with him when he’s still sick? Why would he even _go_ in one of those death traps? Mercenaries know better than anyone to avoid anything subterranean in case of raiders or…”

Lucy feels her heart stop. 

* * *

Head spinning, held down against her will, a drugged, dull pain crawling up her left arm.

“Help me, RJ-” A cry for help.

“It’s alright Lucy, you’re going to be fine. It’s okay, it’s dead. I lov-” A soothing reply.

Screaming as the saw cuts through. Pain clears her head and she **feels**. Each tooth of the blade twangs across her nerves like a prewar violin, dragging a new wave of agony from her lungs.

“Fuck! Pass me the fucking Med-X! Enough to knock her out this time, goddammit!” An angry shout.

A tiny pinch, a drop in the bucket at this point. Her head spins again and not even the pain can clear it. Everything goes black until she wakes up missing a hand and gaining a phobia of the irradiated undead.

* * *

“The ferals funneled in through a caved in tunnel. They burrowed under the debris while your family slept-”

“Are they alive?”

“Yes… However, the synth L8-29 did not survive,” Father takes a deep breath before continuing. 

“I’m afraid your position at the Institute has been upgraded from temporary. We cannot allow you to leave. It would jeopardize the Institute and yourself. You are too valuable of an asset to lose.”

Lucy wastes no time. She darts from her chair to the nearest door, frantically scrabbling to force the hydraulics open. Both hands glance off the surface effortlessly, the material being too slick for sweaty palms or metal fingers to gain purchase. Father nods to X6-88 minutely and the courser takes out a syringe.

“No, no! You can’t do this. _You can’t do this!_ I have a family! They’re still alive and they _need_ me! Let me go! Please-”

The courser expertly positions the needle to her neck, completely unperturbed by her thrashing. There’s a small hiss as he pulls the trigger and Lucy goes limp. X6-88 picks her up bridal-style with ease. Leaning in close, whispers near-silently into her ear. 

“For what it is worth, I am sorry.”

* * *

Lucy awakes tied to another bed with her head foggy and her first thought is, _‘This is getting tedious.’_

The hospital wing’s lights are dimmer than usual, letting her know she’s been out for at least twelve hours. Lucy looks around confused for a moment until the day’s events hit her hard enough to bring tears to her eyes.

Lucy tries taking a deep breath but it stutters into a sob. With her hands tied down, she can’t even wipe away the tears blurring her vision, just accept them as they run off the sides of her face. A chair next to her bedside scrapes against the tile and she flinches away from the sound. 

“Hey, no. Lucy, it’s just me. It’s okay, don’t cry,” Brian soothes her gently, rubbing circles on her arm. The action is gentle enough to remind her of quiet nights with RJ- _before Duncan was sick, before her life went to hell_ -and it brings a new round of sobs wracking through her body.

“Lucy, you’re not alone. We can fix this-” he pauses and looks around suspiciously before leaning in close to whisper into the shell of her ear. “I can fix this,” his voice is hushed. The urgency calms her faster than soothing words ever could. If there was a way to fix this, she had to try. Lucy forces the tears back, biting her lip and sniffling.

“What happened? Tell me everything,” Brian implores. She swallows thickly and nods once, speaking low. 

“When they took me, they replaced me with a synth,” she explains, watching Brian carefully. His eyes widen, then narrow as he curses the synths, the Institute, and the entire human race.

“So you didn’t know,” she breathes out in relief.

“Of course not. I would have told you, my friend. That begs the question: is there another Brian Virgil running around the Commonwealth…?” Brian trails off, then looks at her guiltily. “Ah, sorry. My own existential crisis can wait. What else?”

“For the past year, _it_ has been pretending to be me. Living my life, tucking in my child, sleeping with _my husband-_ ” Lucy’s voice is close to shouting-level and she cuts herself off before she screams. “It talked my family into having a sleepover in a metro station and it got itself killed in a feral attack-”

“And to protect the ‘good of the world’, they’re going to keep you captive so your husband doesn’t blow a hole through your skull thinking you’re a synth,” Brian finishes angrily. Lucy stares at the ceiling and speaks softly.

“How am I supposed to cure my son if I can’t see him? What if there are complications? I need to monitor his progress in case I failed-”

“Lucy, they aren’t keeping you around to save your son or the world. They need you to cure Father,” he shakes his head violently, seething at the thought. 

“I can’t even cure my own son, Brian. What makes you think I can cure _cancer_?” Lucy scoffs.

“No, Lucy. You’re a _genius,_ ” Brian looks around carefully before pulling out a single vial. “You did it, Lucy. The cure was a success. D-2583 completely eradicated the sample disease.”

Lucy’s eyes widen as tears prickle her eyes again. She bites the inside of her cheek hard to stop, but the relief and joy she feels is overwhelming. Despite the hardships she’s experienced, her son will _live_. 

“There’s a problem, though,” Brian murmurs quickly. He knows this information will hurt, but Lucy will appreciate being told immediately. “As soon as the cure came back as a success, the Director pulled the project. They won’t let you go until he’s cured, and they’ll keep your research hostage until that happens. This is all we have left. The rest is gone.”

Exhausted, Lucy can’t work up any more tears, though she still feels the pressure on her chest. She nods solemnly at the ceiling and takes a moment to analyze the situation. A prisoner of the Institute, Lucy has two options: compliance or death. 

Neither will help her son. Neither are acceptable.

“We need a plan.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr: [adistraughtthought](http://www.adistraughtthought.tumblr.com/) for more original content like videos, headcanons, timelines, and pining over MacLucy.


	4. Part Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Lucy MacCready wasn’t so beautiful, maybe he wouldn’t have loved her.

It takes a full year of hard work and planning before they’re nearly ready. A year of pretending to cure Father and gathering allies. Three hundred and sixty-five mornings of waking up alone and terrified from nightmares of ferals tearing her apart in a metro station. Spending every waking moment in fear that Duncan and RJ will wither away from a wasting disease she’s already cured.

Over the course of a year, Lucy continues her research on curing Father’s cancer. She purposefully works slower: both out of spite and to give her more time to plan her escape. She redundantly tests the same cure over and over again, coming up with infinite ways to word “unsuccessful findings” in her reports. Lucy cites her relatively poor work and fruitless data on stress and isolation. It’s easy to explain away: she no longer receives any information on her family and Brian was transferred a lab over to concentrate on his FEV research. 

In reality, Lucy is pretty sure she figured out a cure four months ago. Piggybacking off of hundreds of years of research, it wasn’t nearly as hard as curing her son. Duncan’s disease was completely new and unheard of, with no live samples or subject to test on. However, cancer has affected millions since prewar times, especially since cigarettes were so popular. 

After the Great War, the nuclear fallout created a radioactive wasteland, presumably worldwide. This net of constant radiation ages people faster, ruining skin and organs much sooner than ‘clean’ places such as the Institute. It turns out after 200 years of constant radiation negatively affecting the human race, nature decided to give us a fighting chance. 

Weekly three-hour field trips to the surface would put the Director’s cancer in remission within a year.

Unfortunately for the Director, Lucy is feeling particularly spiteful. Lucy begins typing up another mind-numbing report from off the top of her head while the bulk of her thoughts tick off the Director’s sins on her metal hand. The metal clicks with finality, echoing through the lab.

This man is responsible for her kidnapping and subsequent imprisonment at the Institute. He’s holding all of her research hostage until she cures his ‘incurable’ disease. He is most likely babysitting her family with a deadly courser. He allowed her situation to deteriorate to the point where her subpar synth substitute lured her family into a feral nest. Finally, if Brian hadn’t kept a vial of the cure, her son’s life would be on the line.

If anything, perhaps she isn’t spiteful _enough._

Lucy knows the Director installed a spying program to her terminal that allows him to read her reports as she types them. There’s a slight lag between keystroke and feedback that isn’t there when Brian is logged in. With a small sneer, she adds a helpful suggestion to her report that the Director consider ghoulification as a possible cure for his cancer.

An echo of RJ’s laugh rings in her head as clearly as if he were there. He would’ve enjoyed the irony. After all, feral ghouls ruined her chance at reuniting with her family peacefully. RJ partakes in swift revenge (usually a bullet to the skull), but he always appreciated her finesse when it came to vengeance.

In Little Lamplight, RJ would tell you off to your face, all threats and violence, but Lucy… Lucy would wait until you’re bleeding on her surgery table before she did anything about it. There would always be a suspicious shortage of Med-X and lack of a steady hand when those occasions sprang up. 

Lucy pets her jacket beneath her lab coat: her own small rebellion. Since her Institute status changed from temporary visitor to prisoner, she’s taken to wearing her bomber under the lab coat. The coat falls over the bomber a little awkwardly and she’s positive everyone knows she’s wearing it, but Lucy is far from caring anymore. She picks the bullet hole through the left shoulder with her flesh hand, outlining it fondly.

 _‘Soon, RJ,’_ she thinks, willing her words to reach him. _‘I’m almost home.’_

The door between her lab and the FEV side slides open and Brian strides through the archway. From partner to esteemed head researcher for the super mutant virus, Dr. Virgil has been promoted as high as Lucy has fallen. He has his own assistants, lab, and research to conduct which makes him far too busy to make social calls these days. He tries, though, and Lucy appreciates it. 

“Greetings, Dr. MacCready,” he says stiffly. “A few items seem to be missing from the lab so I assumed it was you. I’d appreciate it if you kept your _hand_ to yourself.”

His formal speech and icy demeanor towards her was carefully constructed between them. The Director was hoping Brian and Lucy would lose their rapport once Brian was promoted and given his own project to head.

As if Lucy’s ego is that fragile.

In reality, they’ve never been closer. Lucy and Brian simply expanded on their spoken code over the past year, implementing it with every ally they gain. As distant as they seem, Brian is risking his life to help her plan succeed, and if it came down to it, Lucy would as well. 

“Of course you did, Dr. Virgil,” she responds testily and clenches her metal hand dramatically for effect. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested in _contaminated_ equipment. Check somewhere else.”

“Afraid of turning green, Lucy?” Brian tries to sneer but it falls short, worry working its way into his voice and dropping her title. 

_Are you afraid?_

Lucy took a moment to think that over. _Is_ she scared? The plan’s failure would result in their death, but the success of the plan carries risks as well. Afraid for her own well-being? No. Afraid for her husband and child, well. They were already in danger: under the crosshairs of the Institute, no one is safe. 

“Of turning green? No. What I’m most afraid of is turning into you,” she retorts, her voice like the crack of a whip in the quiet lab. 

_Not afraid of dying. Afraid of staying here._

Lucy watches Brian’s jaw work. To an outsider, they’d see him grinding his teeth in anger. Lucy sees her friend trying desperately not to smile at their antics. Her eyebrow quirks slightly and he sighs into his hand, no-doubt hiding a broad grin.

“Very well. If you don’t mind, I have _fruitful_ research to conduct,” he huffs. _The plan is set._

Brian throws his arms in the air in an exaggerated display of frustration. As his hands come down, he lightly brushes against her flesh hand. This is a new form of secret code that Brian’s been implementing lately. Being so isolated, Lucy is starved of most human interactions and Brian sympathizes with that. He does his best to show her that he’s still in her corner, still there for her despite the Director’s best efforts.

The moment passes and Brian exits the lab with dramatic anger. Lucy has enough tact to disguise her laugh as a scoff. She shakes her head and returns to her report. She hits send when she hears footsteps approach her lab from the opposite door. Not Brian. 

The hiss of her lab door activates once more and a man in an orange lab coat walks in. Lucy stiffens until she sees his slightly-hesitant gait, eyes shifting with a hand running through his blonde hair.

“Liam,” Lucy greets, her shoulders relaxing. Liam has always been civil to her since she was kidnapped, but they never had a chance to be friends. Eight months ago, Lucy and Brian figured out Liam was the one helping synths escape and essentially blackmailed him into assisting their plan.

“I hope you’re here to give me a hand with this cure…?” Lucy asks. _Are you here to help with our endgame plan?_

“I brought a few old reports from the archives, it should definitely help,” Liam replies easily. _I brought supplies, we should be ready soon._

There was a time when their spoken code made Liam annoyingly giddy. Lucy assumes he enjoyed the cloak and dagger stuff because he didn’t feel invested in it. Sure, he was helping some synths escape, but Liam was born at the Institute. He’s never had his life ripped away from him at the whim of a madman. Thankfully, he’s buckled down since and takes their work a bit more seriously now. 

“Thanks, just leave it on the table there,” Lucy tells him. _Leave before anyone gets suspicious._ Unable to help herself, she struggles not to smirk. “I think I might be making some real progress, here.”

_Working really hard to sabotage any possible research that might cure that bastard._

Liam pauses at that, seeing her metal hand clench tightly. He sighs with a small smile and shakes his head a little, hoping he never makes the mistake of making an enemy of Lucy. Both from what Brian has told him and what he’s witness firsthand, Lucy is a remarkable woman. Even if she hadn’t blackmailed him into being a partner in crime, he probably would’ve helped her regardless. 

Making sure she’s watching, Liam moves deliberately and carefully. He places the files on the nearest table, tucking a single white sheet of paper within the dusty ancient folder to hide it. He’s out the door with a wink and she laughs softly.

Lucy hopes to herself that Liam stays safe in the tumultuous days to come. After all, he’s just assisting from the sidelines while Brian and her take the bulk of the risk. His innocent and light-hearted nature is refreshing in this utopian prison and reminds her of a time before. It’s an echo of reading comics and giggling with RJ, or the thrill of raiding an old convenience store for sweet treats in the dead of night.

A loud bang interrupts her memories and she stills in shock. The overhead lights falter for a moment, then fall to darkness. After a moment, the dim red emergency lights kick on, casting an eerie glow over the lab. The noise shakes the floor and violently jars the more sensitive instruments off the countertops. They fall and anything glass explodes into shards on the tile floor. 

The shattering glass startles her into action. Lucy sheds her lab coat, revealing her dusty bomber underneath. She grabs the file Liam dropped off in case it has anything incriminating on it. Sliding the folded note out from between the yellowed pages, she shoves it roughly into the pocket of her jacket.

Lucy strides to the door between her lab and Brian’s, dreading what she’d find. This isn’t the plan. Brian and Lucy are supposed to escape silently in the night, with Liam and the rest of their allies covering their tracks as long as they can. Explosions certainly aren’t a part of the plan.

The hydraulics to the FEV lab screeches open, metal on metal clawing open. Cautiously, Lucy approaches the opening. Smoke billows outward and the lights from inside the lab are dim and flicker. A hand reaches out through the choking fog and grasps the door for leverage.

“Dr. Virgil?” she asks, still wary of being found out. The hand twitches, drawing her attention to it. It’s large, larger than Brian’s, and that causes her to back up. The red glow washes out the color of everything, but there’s no denying it looks particularly dark. The FEV virus…the super mutants.

Suddenly she’s back in Little Lamplight huddled in the caves. Smallest children behind her, as if she could protect them from monsters as easily as she’s saved them from infections. They listen to the thud of super mutants trying to tear down the walls between safety and death. She hears a whimper and it takes her a moment to realize it’s her. 

Lucy takes a deep breath to steady herself and backs up until she finds an object suitable enough for a weapon: a heavy centrifuge. She picks it up and holds it in front of her like a shield, hoping to throw it at the enemy so she has time to run. A voice rasps something in a rough, gravelly voice and she tastes fear.

“-cy. Lu…Lu-cy,” it strains and gasps. Lucy’s heart drops.

“Brian?” Lucy hesitantly sets the centrifuge down and walks forward cautiously. 

Pulling himself through the door, Doctor Brian Virgil steps into her lab. His proportions are all wrong: hands too big, neck thick, and clothes straining at the seams. His skin is darker than usual under the red emergency lights and his hair is singed off in some places. 

“Lucy,” Brian’s voice sounds almost the same, if a little worn. Lucy could close her eyes and imagine he just has a sore throat. Her own throat constricts and she makes a fist with her flesh hand, nails biting into palm, willing the pain to steady her. 

Brian’s shoulders sag with relief and he takes a step forward, but falters. He looks down at his too-big hands and grimaces, making a fist. “There’s no time. The cure-”

“The cure?” Lucy looks at him confused. She’s never been asked to cure super mutants, that was Brian’s research project. Then it clicks: not the cure for him, the cure for Duncan. Brian holds a hand out expectantly, and pleads with his eyes. 

“You…what happened? Why didn’t you stick to the plan? I don’t understand, Brian, we were supposed to leave together,” she shakes her head, confused. Brian lifts his arm with a pained grunt and points to the other side of the room. Following the line of sight, she looks past the wreckage and sees the old file Liam brought.

“The file? Brian, did Liam know about this? Please, make me understand,” Lucy’s voice is cracking with unshed tears. Her only true friend here, now in the process of becoming one of the most feared monsters of the wasteland. It was too much. How much more would the Institute take from her?

“You’re in danger,” Brian grinds out with effort. He grabs his throat in pain, a low noise of agony escaping him for a moment. The next time he talks, his voice deep and rough, nothing like it was before.

“I…had to save you,” his face is pleading, willing her to understand. “I don’t know if I did. But I can save him. Duncan. I’ll make sure he gets it.”

Lucy nods and crosses the room to a small desk in the corner. She leans down and removed the cure that’s been taped behind the desk for a year now and hands it to Brian. He carefully takes it between two fingers and slides it into his lab coat pocket, as far from his destructive body as he can keep it.

There’s a cry of alarm from the FEV lab behind him and Brian winces. Another, deeper voice laughs menacingly. A few more thuds and both noises stop. Looking over his shoulder nervously, it’s time for him to go.

Brian takes a step closer to Lucy. He leans down, awkward in his new and changing body, and kisses her lightly on the cheek. Then with a small smile, he brushes a tear away with a massive finger. Lucy’s metal hand instinctively comes up to touch her cheek, even knowing she wouldn’t be able to feel anything with it. 

Brian’s face is tragic, full of remorse and agony. He backs up through the doorway again and grabs the sliding door with massive hands. He wrenches it from the system, wires snapping and metal groaning, and slides it halfway shut. Through the gap, Brian meets Lucy’s eyes one last time. 

“Lucy I-“ Brian falters, the words stuck in his throat. He sees her there in the low light, tears streaming down her face, anger and sadness muddling her expression, surrounded by destruction. She’s just as stunning as the day she was brought here. Like a wild prewar animal: beautiful, cunning, and dangerous.

It’s kinder to her if he says nothing. He looks down and shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

"I’m sorry.”

_I love you._

Brian forces the door shut as another voice taunts from behind him. There’s a wrenching noise of metal being ripped like paper, then a hollow clang of metal piping. Wet thuds drum behind the door with a few sharp cracks here and there. A loud hiss of steam covers up the rest of the sounds like white noise. 

Lost, Lucy looks around her ruined lab. Equipment strewn everywhere, broken glass sparkling in the low, red glow reflecting the ruin her life has become. Patting down her bomber pockets, she finds the note Liam slipped her this morning. Pulling it out, Lucy reads it once, twice, then allows herself to sob. 

* * *

_Doctor Brian Virgil,_

_It has come to my attention that Lucy MacCready, former lead researcher of Project D-2583, is plotting against the wellbeing of the Institute. In light of this betrayal of the Institute’s hospitality, Lucy MacCready’s life is forfeit._

_After an extensive investigation into your former superior and yourself, it has come to my attention that your relationship with Doctor MacCready has become strained. Therefore, you’ll be pleased to know that she will be rotated into your next crop of test subjects at the beginning of the next quarter, ideally by July 2287._

_As always, the research you perform on the FEV virus helps make the world a safer place for all and the Institute appreciates your efforts._

_Thank you for your time and dedication,_

_Director_

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Check out my tumblr: [adistraughtthought](http://www.adistraughtthought.tumblr.com/) for more original content like videos, headcanons, timelines, and pining over MacLucy.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my tumblr: [adistraughtthought](http://www.adistraughtthought.tumblr.com/) for more original content like videos, headcanons, timelines, and pining over MacLucy.


End file.
